


Greater Pride Hath no Man

by Lethe9



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Adventure, Canon Compliant, Eventual Fluff, Eventual Relationships, Eventual Sex, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fade Kiss, Fade Tongue, Fluff and Angst, Romance, Solavellan
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-06
Updated: 2017-05-29
Packaged: 2018-08-13 07:39:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 9,947
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7968166
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lethe9/pseuds/Lethe9
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ellana Lavellan struggles to adapt to her new role within the Inquisition, and no one frustrates her more than a certain Elvhen apostate, who disapproves of her decisions at every turn. </p><p>Mostly according to canon.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Wrath of Heaven

The mark trembled and sparked. Pain laced up Ellana Lavellan's left arm as she struggled to control the energy that crackled erratically, loosing bolts of acid-green magic into the night.

"Watch it!" barked Cassandra, her voice thick with that Nevarran accent. She crossed her arms in disapproval.

"I'm not doing anything," Ellana gasped, panting from the exertion of keeping the mark subdued.

"Clearly, you are," the Seeker replied bluntly. "You need to get that thing under control."

Gritting her teeth, Ellana forced herself to speak calmly. "It's gathering too much energy. With every Rift we close, it gets more wild."

The Inquisition's investigations had led them deep into the Hinterlands, battling mages and templars; demons and bears. They had made camp near the Rebel Queen's Ravine among the dramatic basalt formations. About a month had passed since Ellana had stumbled out of the Fade and was found unconscious amid the ruins of the Temple of Sacred Ashes. The world had fallen apart so quickly: the murder of the Divine, the Breach, the Rifts appearing everywhere, and now the brutal fighting between factions. And somehow she, a Dalish rogue from Clan Lavellan, had found herself at the center of the movement that could shape all of Thedas.

And the more Rifts she sealed, the harder it was to control her newfound power.

Another flash of the green magic illuminated the night; Ellana and her companions winced. She, Cassandra, and the surface dwarf Varric huddled around a blazing fire, warding off the Ferelden cold. Varric watched her struggle, unusually quiet and frowning with concern; Cassandra seemed more wary and was, Ellana suspected, still distrustful. They journeyed with another elf as well, an apostate called Solas. He was nowhere to be found, which was exactly how Ellana liked him.

"You'll have to tell Solas about this, Herald," Cassandra warned.

Ellana groaned. "No, no - I can manage. I just need some more time to get the hang of it."

"Time is exactly what we do not have," Cassandra said sharply. "Solas calmed the mark once before. Let him help you."

Ellana frowned down at her own shining palm as resentment bubbled up inside her. She'd never disliked another elf so much as the apostate Solas, with his cool detachment and arrogant dismissal of her Dalish identity. She made a point to avoid him as much as possible.

"If you don't tell him, I will," the Seeker continued stubbornly.

Passing her unmarked hand over her tired eyes, Ellana admitted defeat. "I'm sorry… you're right Cassandra. I'll ask him tomorrow, when he returns."

"The woman's got enough on her plate without your nagging, Seeker," Varric interjected slyly. Ellana suppressed a laugh; his pleasant, gravelly voice could always cheer her.

"I wasn't nagging!" protested Cassandra.

The two were still bickering when Ellana tucked into her bedroll and closed her eyes for the night.

***

The next day was successful yet exhausting, even by the Inquisiton's standards. The four of them managed to negotiate a deal with Horsemaster Dennett to procure horses for the Inquisition, and had helped him eliminate the possessed wolves near the farm. Ellana was wiping off the last of the oozing demon-slime from her daggers when Solas approached her, nondescript as ever in his tunic and simple armour, hands held loosely behind his back. Ellana nearly failed to notice him.

"Solas," she greeted him coldly, sheathing her blades with a satisfying hiss.

"What was it that you needed?" he asked politely, by way of greeting.

Their eyes met; Ellana felt the familiar prickle of annoyance. His face was schooled into it's usual benevolent mask, but there was something about the angle of his brow that made her feel as though she were being mocked.

"Excuse me?" she replied with all the ice she could muster.

She had the satisfaction of seeing uncertainty flash in his eyes.

"Cassandra mentioned that you needed my help. She was uncharacteristically vague with the specifics, but I assume it has something to do with your mark."

Ellana turned away to hide her exasperation. Beyond her annoyance that Cassandra had gotten to him first, this kind of comment was exactly why she disliked him so. Solas was always formal and polite - except when demeaning her culture - but it was his prideful confidence in his own superior intellect that really set her teeth on edge.

"Perhaps I was misinformed?" the apostate suggested when Ellana did not respond. He hesitated a moment longer, then turned to leave.

"Wait!" Ellana blurted out. She swallowed her pride and spoke. "It's - it's the mark. I'm having trouble controlling it. It keeps flaring up."

"I can understand how overwhelming this must feel for someone without magical training," replied Solas gently.

"It's just…" She flexed her fingers in frustration. "I dislike feeling… dangerous. Like I could hurt someone if for one second I'm not paying attention."

The apostate nodded. "Quite." He drummed his slender fingers against his staff thoughtfully for a moment. "I can tell you with certainty, Herald, that your mark is stable, for now at least. When we return to Haven, if you desire, I can instruct you to manipulate the Fade through meditation. Perhaps this will afford you greater control."

Lessons with Solas. Delightful.

With an effort, Ellana made her face as smooth and impassive as his. "Your help is appreciated, Solas."

He lifted his chin a fraction - that infuriating superiority - and wandered away, leaving Ellana to seethe in solitude.

***

Ellana had always known that she was not like other elves. Yes, she was slender and willowy as a sapling, but much shorter - she only had a few inches on Varric. Everyone in Clan Lavellan cut their hair short, for practical reasons, but she let her platinum tresses grow long and wild. Even her Vallaslin were different: everyone else had worn theirs proudly in dark ink; she'd chosen a colour so pale that the intricate design only shimmered on her cheekbones. She had unfortunately been mistaken for a flat-ear once or twice because if it.

Beyond appearances, the other elves in Clan Lavellan possessed a sort of dignity, a presence, that Ellana supposed came from their ancestral heritage. She herself possessed as much dignity as a frolicking fennec. While her clanmates were quiet and soft spoken, Ellana was quick to make her opinions known. Where her family was cautious and reserved, Ellana was spirited and passionate. "You must learn to subdue that fire, da'len," her Keeper remarked more than once, but Ellana had never given it much thought. She liked herself the way she was.

All the same, she missed her Clan. She missed sleeping all together in the aravel, she missed the watchfulness of the halla and the feeling of belonging. She missed being noticed for nothing but her impulsive ways, and not the mark on her hand or her pointed ears.

Unfortunately, the only other elf - excluding Sera, who hardly counted - did little to alleviate her homesickness. Solas seemed to irritate her a little more every day.

"It's as if he wants me to fail," Ellana grumbled to Sera and Varric later that evening as they relaxed in The Singing Maiden, drinks in hand. The tavern was busier than ever with the flood of refugees and agents that had been recruited to the Inquisition. Music filled the crowded room, warm and comfortable, as the dust motes danced within the sunset's glow. She found herself retreating here more and more since her frustrating magic lessons had begun.

"Screw him," said Sera with an indifferent shrug. "It's like I told you - his head's crammed up a thousand years ago."

With a sigh, Ellana set her tankard down on the wooden table. "I'd better go. I need to check in with Josephine before bed."

As she began to rise, Varric placed his big, warm hand on her arm.

"Listen for a second, Lucky," he said gently. Ellana settled back down.

"I know Chuckles is a little… different from most people. And yes, he knows everything about everything and that can be annoying as shit. But he's still here, and he's trying to help, just like the rest of us."

Sera snorted derisively but Varric ignored her.

"Just… try not to be too hard on him."

His expression was strangely serious, and a little too understanding. She felt, as she often did, that the dwarf was much more clever than he let on.

She nodded slowly. "Yeah. Thanks, Varric."

"No problem," he replied before diving into another tale of the Champion of Kirkwall.

***

"You must empty yourself of emotion, Herald," said Solas sternly.

"I'm _trying_ ," Ellana hissed through gritted teeth.

The two of them were seated, eyes closed and face-to face, on the snow-dusted earth a little ways from Haven. The woods were quiet, all sounds blanketed by the fresh powder, and snowflakes drifted around peacefully. They were a picture of tranquility, but inside Ellana was burning with fury.

"You are not trying hard enough," he replied sharply. "You are in turmoil. You _must_ still your mind."

"I'm finding that difficult at the moment, Solas," she spat.

"And I am finding it difficult," he shot back, "To understand why, with your propensity for focus, this is such a struggle."

Ellana exhaled, attempting to push away her frustration. "I am doing the best that I can," she snarled. Her hands shook in clenched fists; they'd been at it for an hour.

"You are in the process of familiarizing yourself with the rhythms of the Fade. For this to work, you must clear your mind of all emotion or demons will consume you." She heard him take a breath. "Try again."

"Creators, Solas, one day I'll give you a lesson in daggers and then we'll see who gets emotional."

The apostate did not reply, but his silence itself seemed smug. _Fenedhis_ , could he wield daggers too?

"Try again," repeated Solas, and Ellana swore she could hear amusement in his voice.

To calm her thoughts, she drew her attention to physical sensations, as he'd taught her. The cold air that chilled her nose and lips with each breath, the icy hardness of the frozen ground, the whisper of leafless trees. She felt her racing heart slow in her chest.

"I'm ready," she murmured.

Numbly, as though from a great distance, she felt Solas' energies begin to guide her consciousness outwards. "Opening your mind to the Fade," he'd explained. Her body tingled strangely - or at least she thought it was her body, for her physicality seemed suddenly much less important.

Before the separation was completed, however, something changed in the physical world. An icy blast of snow buffeted Ellana's face, whipping through her hair, chilling her lashes. For a split second, her eyelids opened just a fraction, and she glimpsed Solas seated before her. And just like that, the emotion came rushing back.

The light had changed; the sun rapidly disappearing behind the Frostbacks, and in it's orange glow… _Creators,_ he was beautiful. The sharp planes of his face were cast in stark relief, highlighting the severe tilt of his brow and the serenity of his closed eyes. As much as she disliked the man, she could not deny -

Solas opened his eyes. It was clear he was not pleased. "You almost had it," he sighed in frustration.

Ellana prickled with irritation, both with him and with herself, for losing control again. Without thinking, she blurted out, "Ir abelas, hahren."

She froze. It had been an automatic response. Solas' face held it's scholarly mask, but she thought she noticed his eyes widen, almost imperceptively.

"Tel'abelas, Da'len," he replied after a moment's silence. "Let's try again."


	2. In Hushed Whispers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ellana revisits her memories of Redcliffe. Varric plays matchmaker.

Ellana and Dorian crept through the bowels of what had once been Redcliffe Castle, and what was now the dungeon from hell. Every echoing sound made her flinch; every flickering shadow stopped her heart. They clung to the shadows, slinking like alley cats through the carnivorous chambers.

Everything about this place felt wrong, evil, basking in the red glow if the lyrium. The air was stiflingly muggy, as if the blighted space itself burned with fever. And yet, when Ellana ran her trembling fingers over the jagged black stones, they were cold and wet to the touch.

The figure of the Grand Enchanter, or what was left of her, burned at the front of Ellana's mind.

"Your spymaster…Leliana…she is here. Find her. Quickly, before the Elder one learns you're here..."Her voice had rasped and croaked, barely recognizable; her body broken, immobilized, mined for lyrium like a mineral vein. Ellana shivered with terror. She was alone, in the future, in a destroyed world with no one but this strange shemlen mage. Even Solas would have been preferable; the one time she actually missed his thrice-damned intellect, the apostate was nowhere to be found.

"Over here!" hissed Dorian, gesturing to a heavy wooden door. "Let's try this one."

Ellana grasped the black cast-iron door handle and to her intense surprise, found it unlocked. The hinges let out a hair-raising screech as she eased it open. They froze, ears straining for the slightest sound.

Nothing.

Silent as a passing shadow, she slipped inside.

"Leliana?" she hissed, eyes darting around the red-swathed darkness. No response.

"Anything?" asked Dorian, following her in.

Ellana shook her head, but when she turned to leave, her foot struck something on the floor. It rolled across the chamber with a sharp tapping sound. She glanced down with a soft curse - it was a fragment of bone.

"Is someone there?"

Ellana and Dorian jumped, hearts hammering, but the voice was not the hoarse rasp of a wretched darkspawn servant. It was a familiar, strangely soothing voice that rang with that distinctive lilting accent.

She'd never felt such acute relief.

Seizing Dorian by the arm, she approached the bars of a cage, previously unnoticed, and peered within.

It was unmistakably Solas, but not as she remembered him. He stood, ragged as ever with that contradictory poise, and yet he was… changed. His skin was burning and infected; his eyes, usually steely and intelligent, were clouded with red haze.

"You're alive?" Solas gasped - the first time Ellana had ever see him truly shocked. "We saw you die!"

"The spell Alexius cast displaced us in time," Dorian explained, "We just got here, so to speak."

Solas' prideful face shone with the enthusiasm he usually reserved for the Fade. "Can you reverse the process? You could return and opiate the events of the last year - it may not be too late!"

"So, you understand what's happening?" said Ellana, head spinning. _Blighted magic._

Solas looked away darkly. "You'd think such understanding would keep me from making such terrible mistakes. You would be wrong."

Ellana was only half-listening; as he spoke, she'd noticed the same red fog that had infected Fiona excreting from his mouth like smoke.

"Are you alright?" she asked, "You don't look well."

Solas' eyes narrowed as if he were impatient with such a moronically obvious statement. "I’m dying," he snapped, "But no matter. If you undo this, they could all be saved."

"They?" repeated Dorian questioningly.

The elegant bald head shook. "I forget - you know nothing of this world," the apostate said bitterly. "It is far worse than you understand. Alexius served a master, the Elder One. He reigns now, unchallenged. His minions assassinated Empress Celene and used the chaos to invade the South. This Elder One commands an army of demons. After you stop Alexius, you must be prepared."

"You're just brimming with good news, aren't you?" Ellana groaned into her hands.

Again, the elf flared up. "If you can return to your present, you might find it helpful to know what the Elder One plans!"

Ellana felt the familiar spark of irritation at his presumptuous manner and could not help but smile. That, at least, had not changed. With a shrug, she got down on her knees and began to pick the lock. Within minutes, the cage door swung outwards.

"Thank you," said Solas, stepping into freedom. He looked from Dorian to Ellana thoughtfully. "Be warned. This world is an abomination. It must never come to pass."

***

Ellana blinked, blinded by the floating white. It took her a moment to remember where she was, that what happened at Redcliffe was over, that she had nothing to fear.

Nonetheless, her heart thundered and Ellana clenched her fists against the lingering fear.

Solas gave a deep sigh. He was seated across from her, as always, and attempting to coach her in the art of Fadewalking. His efforts over the past weeks, difficult as it was for Ellana to admit, had finally yielded results: she was able to control the mark much more competently than ever before. Solas believed that further mastery of the Fade could only improve her abilities and so, to Ellana's chagrin, the lessons continued.

"It didn't work, did it?" Ellana asked, shoulders slumping. She'd been attempting to dream consciously, and to pull Solas into her memories. So far, she'd only managed to convey vague colours and feelings.

"It… may have," the mage replied slowly, his deep smooth voice troubled. "But I do not know if you were the source. The vision was not of this world."

Despite herself, Ellana found herself leaning forward. "Can you describe it?"

Solas frowned. "It was red, violent and painful. Unless I am very much mistaken, I saw myself there… which is, of course, absurd. Perhaps it was a trick of the Fade…"

"No, Solas."

He frowned a little - had she ever contradicted him before? "Though I respect your opinions, Herald, do not mistake -"

"No! Don’t you see?" Ellana's words tumbled out eagerly, excitement and annoyance mingling with her earlier terror. "It was Redcliffe. I recreated it in the Fade, in the future!"

Understanding cleared his troubled expression. "Ah. Yes, you're right. Well done, Herald. If you’re ready to attempt once more, I think this time -"

"Actually, Solas," she interrupted, "I think I'm done for today. We'll continue this tomorrow." The turbulent emotions of the last few minutes had left her feeling faintly queasy.

Solas' enthusiasm immediately disappeared behind an impassive mask. "As you like."

Avoiding his gaze, Ellana fled back to Haven, leaving the apostate alone in the drifting snow.

***

"Everything all right, Lucky?"

Ellana looked round, eyes bleary. She was three pints deep and starting to waver. The Singing Maiden was warm and noisy, but Ellana wasn't there to talk.

"Varric."

The dwarf pulled up a chair next to her and settled in. "Man, you’re lucky we're here for a few days. I don’t think you'll be functioning too smoothly tomorrow."

She tried to laugh and hiccupped instead. Varric raised an eyebrow.

"You're downing those things like Templars take Lyrium. Something on your mind?"

"Just… everything," she replied, waving a noncommittal hand. "Especially Redcliffe."

"Everything that happens to you is weird," he agreed.

"You might be right about that."

"I'm always right," replied Varric engagingly, "and when I'm not, I lie about it."

Ellana could not help but laugh, and let the dwarf coax her into drinking a few cups of water. Feeling a bit more clearheaded, she made to stand. "Thanks, Varric. You're good to have around, you know."

"Now, don’t get gushy on me," he scolded gruffly. "And don't take off just yet. I have something I want to show you - just stay here a minute, I'll go and get it." He stood, disappearing into the crowd.

Staring into her tankard, Ellana lost herself in thought. Her hand hummed with that strange green energy that she could never entirely ignore. _And to think_ , she mused, _just a few months ago I was just a Dalish hunter, a lone wolf, with only the survival of my Clan on my mind._ Now, she had a whole world to worry about, a world that would certainly be destroyed if the Elder One got his way. She lost herself in memories of the disaster at Redcliffe, the Red Lyrium growing out of people, the Fade torn down, demons crawling over the corpses of children…

"Herald."

Godsdammit, that voice. She turned and there was Solas, seated in Varric's place, his face grave and disapproving.

"Solas." She silently cursed the blurriness of her voice.

He watched her silently for a moment, taking in the shakiness of her hands and the darkness under her eyes. "You appear troubled. Varric mentioned…"

Ellana snarled under her breath. She'd wring that bastard's neck. It wouldn’t be difficult - Cassandra would help her. "It's nothing, Solas. Thank you for your concern."

He raised an eyebrow. "You are stubborn, Da'len," he laughed quietly, "Are you thinking about Redcliffe? About the memory you shared with me today?"

She shrugged, examining the pointed shells of his ears to avoid his gaze.

"Those visions would trouble anyone." He leaned in, unable to suppress his excitement. "But are you certain you experienced time travel? Could it have been an illusion, a trick of the Fade?"

"You think Alexius made an illusion of his own life going down in flames?" she responded irritably.

Was her inebriated mind imagining the sudden look of approval, even pride, in his eyes? "Point taken."

To her amazement the elf reached out and placed a tentative hand on her arm. She jumped a little in surprise, and his mouth curled into a small smile. "You must consider this a gift, Herald," he said gently, "You gained unique insight into the Elder One's plans." 

"Most people have trouble wrapping their heads around the idea," she replied, a challenge in her voice. His hand was pleasantly warm against her arm. She imagined - or was it real?- the tingling hum of magic at his fingertips?

Solas raised his chin. "I'm not most people."

He withdrew his touch, leaving her arm feeling chilled. "Well, thanks for talking with me about it. And… for not being most people," Ellana replied cattily, trying to make light of it.

His eyes tightened as if he understood exactly. "If you wish me to speak of Orlesian fashion, I may be at a loss. Magical surprises, I can handle."

She looked at him, surprised. Was he flirting with her? Had _she_ flirted with him? Her ale-soused mind was too sluggish to decide.

"I saw you in that future."

She'd been thinking about it all day, since she'd recreated that vision, and it felt good to finally say it aloud.

Solas' eyes widened. "You saw me at Redcliffe? That is… most intriguing."

Ellana looked down at her hands. Of course he would think so.

"What was I like?" he asked cautiously.

Avoiding his gaze, Ellana replied, "You were… sick. You said you were dying. I think it was the Red Lyrium."

"Ah."

She snuck a peek at him; his face was as tender as she'd ever seen.

"You were angry, and disgusted by the world. You said it was an abomination."

He nodded, and she continued.

"Then Dorian and I needed to confront Alexius. And you - you and Varric…" Her throat closed up.

"We were killed?"

Blinking up at the ceiling, Ellana nodded. She'd seen his lifeless body, limp as a ragdoll, sprawled on the stone floor like a broken toy. All that pride, that poise, that intelligence: gone.

"I am alive, Da'len," said Solas quietly. "As is Varric, thanks to you. We have no memory of the suffering in that future, and I am thankful for it. You thwarted the Elder One for a second time. Though a creature who aspires to godhood is unlikely to ignore such an affront, you succeeded."

Embarrassed, she wiped her eyes. "Yes," she said thickly, "You're right, Hahren."

Very slowly, Solas brushed a thumb along her cheekbone, wiping away a tear. "Goodnight, Herald."

He stood smoothly and left the tavern. Ellana watched him go, her heart chaotic as a thundercloud.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like knowing someone would sacrifice their lives for you would change the relationship... no matter how irritating they are. Like the troll scene in Harry Potter.


	3. In Your Heart Shall Burn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Solas leads the Herald through the Frostbacks. Leliana intercepts whispers about their relationship.

An eagle, soaring across the white-blue sky, caught a glimpse of the strange scene below. A sprawling convoy wheedled its way through the Frostbacks, druffalo pulling ramshackle carts, soldiers astride fleet-footed harts, and humans - so many humans! - doggedly trudging through the white. Some were young, some old; some strong, some limping - but all followed the small, platinum-haired she-elf with hope in their hearts and a song on their lips.

Ellana looked back from the head of the column as they followed her swift footsteps through the deep snow. Her Inner Circle was scattered amongst the Inquisition: Varric spinning stories, Cassandra keeping order, Sera helping the weak and injured. And they all followed _her_ , eyes trusting and faithful, inspired by her miraculous survival, as if she could do no wrong. As if she were untouchable.

Unsurprisingly, it was Solas who walked beside her and guided her to their mysterious destination.

She eyes him suspiciously. His pale cheeks were flushed with cold, the tips of his ears pink from the icy wind. Ellana remembered their conversation in the forgotten mountain pass after the destruction of Haven, as the Inquisition stood strong and singing.

"The humans have not raised one of our People so high for ages beyond counting," he'd spoken confidently, grey eyes shimmering in the glow of magelight. "Their faith is hard won, Lethallin, and worthy of pride. Save one detail."

 _So she was Lethallin now, and not Dalish savage?_ Ellana remembered thinking, but if her scepticism had showed on her face, Solas had ignored it.

"The threat Corypheus weilds," he had continued, "The orb he carried. It is ours." He explained rapidly that the Elder One's means of creating the Breach and destroying the Conclave was the Elvhen magic carried within the ancient foci.

"You will need every advantage," he'd told her solemnly. "By attacking the Inquisition, Corypheus has changed it. Changed _you_. Scout to the north; be their guide. There is a place that waits for a place to hold it. There is a place where the Inquisition can build…grow…"

And, to Ellana's extreme frustration, he hadn't given up any further details.

"Is something troubling you, Herald?"

Solas' deep voice snapped her out of her reverie. His angular face was turned towards her, noticing her scrutiny.

Ellana looked away, frowning. "Tell me again how you know about this supposed forgotten castle."

"There are always whispers of forgotten places in the Fade… for those who know to listen," the apostate replied with that infuriating, mysterious half-smile. "Both ancient triumphs and bloody massacres attract the notice of spirits."

"So was this one a triumph or a massacre?" she said shrewdly.

Solas gave a bark of laughter. "That depends which spirit you ask."

She rolled her eyes as he chuckled quietly to himself.

"But we've been Fadewalking not far from here," Ellana protested, "I've never seen or heard anything about a castle nearby."

Solas' lips twitched as he fought to keep his face solemn. "If you were - please forgive my lack of humility - as experienced as exploring the Fade as I, you may have. The difference is that I interact with spirits regularly, enough to call some of them friends. It was they who shared this particular knowledge with me."

"So we're following the advice of a spirit?" she demanded furiously.

His demeanour hardened. He turned his frosty, disapproving gaze to hers.

"Spirits _are_ people - though not as others, such as the Chantry, accept. Is Cassandra defined by her cheekbones and not her faith? Varric by his chest hair and not his wit?"

"I'm not disputing that ," she argued, "But I'm leading hundreds of people though a freezing mountain pass based on, literally, the say-so of a friend of a friend!"

"Ah." Solas cocked his head. "So you are concerned about looking foolish if my friend is mistaken, and the fortress does not exist?"

"Foolish?" Ellana cried, "I'll be torn limb from limb!"

He laughed again, his moods mercurial as ever. "Rest assured, Herald, that my friend is not wrong - of that I am certain. And I am equally certain that, should anything run amiss, you will recover with your usual grace."

Ellana stopped in her tracks. "So you're suggesting I'm graceful?"

To her astonishment, Solas turned and met her wide-eyed gaze calmly, a smirk tugging at the corner of his full mouth.

"No. I am declaring it. It was not a subject for debate."

 _Creators take him_ , Ellana thought furiously, cheeks burning. Making no effort to hide the triumph on his face, Solas walked onward though the snow.

***

When was she going to stop doubting him? Solas was right, godsdammit, he was always right and Skyhold was a _wonder_. Yes, parts were in urgent need of repair, but the walls stood straight and strong, the towers reached skyward, sturdy and powerful. Ellana wandered around, jaw hanging open, with Dorian and Vivienne. Dorian, for once, was speechless, and even the First Enchanter's eyes shone with excitement - no doubt imagining how this new fortress could benefit her own position.

"A miracle of the Maker," Cassandra had declared, and everyone seemed to agree. The people of the Inquisition had looked to Ellana with reverence; now their respect bordered on naked adoration.

Her inauguration as Inquisitor, while not unexpected, caused yet another surge in her renown. More soldiers poured into Skyhold every day. Lords and ladies in expensive cloths stopped and stared as Ellana walked by, and she could have sworn she saw one Orlesian woman swoon. Servants trembled in her presence, and guardsmen bowed low as they would to the late Divine herself.

It seemed as though the meetings and councils and judgements were unending. Ellana spent her days directing reconstruction efforts, troop movements and training, handling visiting ambassadors, and conferring with her advisors on every imaginable matter. Soon, she found herself longing to be out in the field again, back in the wild with only a few chosen companions around her. Even Solas' dreaded magic lessons would have provided a welcome distraction from the demands of leadership.

"There is one last matter I must bring to your attention, Inquisitor," said Josephine, her voice rippling with that thick, alluring Antivan accent. "It is of a more… sensitive nature."

Ellana and her three advisors were closeted in the renovated War Room. The last few hours had left her mind numb and buzzing; all she could think of was finding a quiet place to rest her eyes. She leaned forward heavily on the table.

"Yes?" she answered wearily.

"It is my sad duty to inform you that, among the storm of rumour that circles the Inquisition, there have been certain… _whispers_ about yourself and Master Solas."

Cullen made a noise that was halfway between a cough and a yelp. Leliana covered a smile with her hand.

"There will always be whispers about elves," replied Ellana warily, "What is it this time?"

The ambassador smiled thinly. "I apologize; I was unclear. The rumours are less about your shared Elvhen heritage, and more about the relationship you have with each other."

Oh. Colour flooded her cheeks. "Right," she blurted quickly. _Such an idiot._

"While your personal life is your own affair," Josephine continued, "we must decide how to officially respond to these whispers, in order to present the Inquisition favourably."

"Right," Ellana repeated, frustrated. "But I hardly speak to Solas at all. I only badger him with questions, mostly, and he rarely bothers to lecture me anymore. How can they - ?"

"Perhaps it would be helpful if you could share with the Inquisitor exactly what these rumours claim," Leliana cut in smoothly.

Josephine glanced down at her notes - Creators, did she keep such things written down? - and gave a little hum of disapproval. "The masses believe - pardon my indiscretion - that the two of you are lovers. The more fanciful speak of your running naked in the moonlight, and related eroticism. The more malevolent claim that you are sexual deviants who seek to trick humanity into rebuilding the Elvhen Empire."

Cullen's face was shocking pink, and he seemed intensely interested in the lacings of his boots. Ellana herself could do nothing but stammer, eyes wide.

The ambassador smiled cleverly, perfectly at ease in the sea of politics in which Ellana found herself adrift. "I would suggest denying these rumours, Inquisitor. Another match could certainly be used to improve our reputation in due course, and I see no political advantage to advertising a supposed dalliance with an Elvhen apostate. We could, perhaps, present Solas as an advisor, or a family member -?"

"No!" Ellana blurted out, then bit her tongue. "I - I have a family, in my Clan. We can present him as an advisor."

Josephine nodded, making a small note on her stack of papers. "Then I think that is all for the moment. We could all use a good night's sleep and a meal before we continue."

Cullen grunted and fled towards the doors, pausing to hold them open for her.

"I'll just be second," said Ellana. "You are all free to go."

The commander left, boots clomping down the hall. Leliana slipped out, suppressing her discreet smile as if the whole exchange had been amusing, followed by Josephine. But as the ambassador stepped out of the room she turned back towards Ellana like a conspirator.

"Keep in mind, Inquisitor, that this is all for the public image. You are at liberty to pursue your own desires in private."

"Of course, I - wait." Ellana shook her head groggily. " What?"

Josephine giggled and, with a little wink, the door slammed shut.


	4. What Lies Dormant

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ellana wakes from a strange dream, and an unnerving conversation follows.

Ellana awoke with a start. Her dream had been so vivid, so sensory, so _real_ … She could almost feel the lingering pressure of Solas' lips against her own, the warmth of his long, lean body as he pressed into her, bending her back for their kiss. She touched her fingers to her parted lips, then gave herself a little shake.

What was the matter with her? She didn't even _like_ Solas. Yes, she found him attractive, but he was just so _indifferent_ to her. It must be Josephine's words from the war room, Ellana decided. That little suggestion had wheedled it's way into her subconscious, and caused a romantic dream about the single most arrogant mage she'd ever met - Dorian and Vivienne included. With a sigh, she lay back down and pulled the duckdown comforter tightly around her shoulders. Almost immediately, she fell back into sleep.

***

When Ellana rose in the morning, she had forgotten the dream almost entirely. Josephine trailed behind her for several of the early hours, jotting down her rapid responses to an unending stream of requests from the nobility. Ellana strode this way and that, attempting to organize an expedition to the Hinterlands to neutralise a formidable rift they'd detected in the north.

Blackwall, stoic as ever, had already agreed to accompany her. So had Cole, her newest companion, a strange young boy with unusual powers and even more unusual clothing. But she still needed a mage. Ellana considered, then cursed. Vivienne and Dorian would each bicker endlessly with Blackwall, and both were uncertain around Cole. It would have to be Solas.

Dragging her feet, she made her way towards the rotunda, waving to Varric as she passed by. Solas was at work when she entered, paintbrush in hand. His latest project, an expansive fresco detailing the triumphs of the Inquisition, took most of his free time these days. She admired his work for a moment, the aggressive reds and oranges, before clearing her throat to get his attention.

At once he straightened and walked over to her at the desk. His expression was most unsettling - he seemed torn between amusement and mocking, and Ellana was instantly on guard.

"Sleep well?" Solas asked with a smirk.

Ellana flared up. Did he seriously think she'd been sleeping late? "I've just spent the morning making about a thousand world-altering decisions with the Ambassador, actually," she snapped. "But please, go on - tell be about the stresses of painting. It must be just _awful_ to have time for a hobby."

The apostate shot her a piercing look. "I was referring to last night."

"O…kay?" Ellana replied uncertainly. She usually had trouble keeping up with Solas, but he'd really lost her this time.

Solas looked at her strangely, and spoke slowly as if to an utter moron. "The... conversation we had. At Haven."

Suddenly, it clicked: the dream came rushing back and Ellana froze. "Wait - _Creators_ \- Solas, were we in the Fade?"

He frowned. "I have clearly been giving myself too much credit in regards to your magical education. If you recall, Inquisitor, _Haven no longer exists_."

"I know that!" Ellana spat, bristling at his condescending tone, "But - I thought - wasn't I dreaming?"

A corner of Solas' mouth twitched as he fought laughter. "Try to recall the conversation we had yesterday, in this room. You asked to know more about my life, and I told you…"

"-that we'd speak about it later, somewhere more interesting," Ellana whispered, horror setting in. _Fenedhis_ , what had she done? Her entire body filled with ice, from her toes to the tips of her pointed ears. She had _kissed_ \- ! Ellana buried her face in her palms.

"Are you alright?" He was definitely mocking her.

She straightened and pushed a strand of silvery hair away from her face.

"Yes. It's just… I've never done anything like that before. On a number of levels."

He laughed again, quiet and musical. "I apologize. The kiss was impulsive and ill-considered, and I should not have encouraged it."

Though his words were repentant, Solas' eyes glinted with mischief and Ellana's face burned.

"You say that, but you’re the one that started with tongue," she shot back.

"I did no such thing!"

Was he blushing? Ellana pressed her advantage. "Oh! Does it not count if it's only Fade-tongue?" she said sarcastically.

Solas pressed his lips together and angled his face away. She immediately felt bad for her sharpness and touched him lightly on the arm.

His face came up with a little smile. "Forgive me. It has been some time and things have always been… easier for me in the Fade. I am not certain this is the best idea. It could lead to trouble.

"Agreed. Best simply to be friends." Ellana strove to sound as aloof as he, but her voice was unconvincing even to her own ears.

"Thank you. I appreciate that. And I will always remember a surprising moment stolen in a dream."

Ellana made a non-committal sound. For some reason her tongue seemed to be stuck to the back of her throat. She noticed Solas watching her closely.

"But I am reasonably certain we are awake now," he continued slowly, "and if you wish to discuss anything, I would enjoy talking."

"I - the Inquisition - needs you in the Hinterlands," she said in a rush. "From your measurements, we found that rift you warned us about."

"Of course, Inquisitor," he replied formally.

An awkward moment passed.

"I'll … let you get back to your work," Ellana said stiffly. "We leave tomorrow at daybreak."

Solas looked at her for a long moment. Was it her imagination, or did he seem… uncertain? "Goodbye," he replied quietly.

Like a thrice-damned shemlen coward, Ellana fled the rotunda.


	5. Measuring the Veil

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ellana realizes something important, and Cole doesn't sleep.

They'd hardly spoken since the Fade Tongue Incident, and hadn't been alone at all. Ordinarily Ellana wouldn't have minded, but it made their mission in the Hinterlands more awkward than she could have anticipated. They still worked well together, casting barriers to protect the front-line warriors, and banishing demons into the Fade. The unusual rift Solas has discovered in the mountain cave had been sealed successfully. But as they made camp, Ellana and Solas had carefully avoided each others' gaze.

Yet here they were, side by side in the darkness, the thick canvas tent shielding them from the eyes of the world. Neither of them could stomach Blackwall's snoring, and as Cole did not need to sleep, it only made sense for the two of them to share. Ellana wasn't exactly happy about it, but she was nothing if not pragmatic.

Solas, despite his aloofness, had been a considerate bedfellow: he let her enter first, and waited while she pulled off her outer layers, leaving only the soft tunic she slept in. He had changed outside, despite the cold, and when he crawled into the tent he was clad only in his simple leggings and jawbone pendant. He moved gingerly, unwilling to lean on her with an errant knee or elbow, and Ellana pointedly kept her eyes away from his bare chest. _Creators_ , she sighed mentally. It was going to be a very uncomfortable night.

Ellana leaned as far away from him as possible, trying to make room, but there was simply no avoiding the fact that some parts of their bodies would be in contact. As he laid back on his bedroll, she rolled onto her side, facing away from him. She could feel his arm against her middle back, and he felt as tense as herself. But it would have to do.

"On nydha," she mumbled.

"Sleep well," he replied, but Ellana already knew she wouldn't.

***

As it sometimes does, consciousness returned to Ellana in the early hours of the morning, when the darkness in the tent was becoming gray in lieu of black. The first thing she became aware of was the pleasant warmth down her right side, and the softness of skin against her cheek. Around her were the hum of mountain insects, the deep breathing of her companions, and the ever-present whisper of wind through the rocky cliffs. She squirmed a little, then remembered where she was.

Her eyes shot open. The realization that she'd shifted in her fitful sleep and her cheek now rested on Solas' smooth shoulder brought heat to her cheeks.

_Fenedhis._

Was she truly awake? Or was this another shared dream?

Wincing, Ellana lifted her chin and peeked up at him. He was awake; his face was angled towards her, and he looked down into her face with the same hungry expression he'd worn in the Fade.

She blinked, blush deepening. "Hi," she whispered, trying to break the sudden tension.

His full lips curved, just a little, into a small smile. "Hello."

Had she never noticed the music in his voice? It sung, deep and quiet, at one with the morning gray. She lifted her hand to trace the shape of his mouth, but stopped herself. This was no dream; what was wrong with her?

But still Solas watched her, and Ellana found she could not resist the pull of his gray eyes. He studied her as if he would understand something; as if she were a puzzle to be solved.

"What is it?" she whispered, her voice barely audible over Blackwall's snores.

Solas did not answer, but a frown creased his regal brow, as if he was gathering focus. It was the same look he wore before attempting a difficult spell. He shifted on his bedroll, rolling onto his side so they were face to face. Ellana hardly dared to breathe.

And to her utter shock, he moved forward and kissed her mouth.

It was not demanding, this time. It was kind, restrained even, as it if it were an elaborate dance that required complete control. She closed her eyes and breathed him in.

He began the kiss, and he ended it, pulling back slowly - but Ellana, without meaning to, without planning it at all, caught the leather throng of his pendant between her fingers and pulled him in.

The little tug of her hands seemed a long-awaited answer to an unasked question.

Solas's hands cupped her face, and tilting her head back, kissed her again; slowly, passionately.

And Ellana kissed him back. Her arms wrapped around his waist to press between his shoulder blades; she arched her back to keep their bodies tight together. This was not like the Fade, where everything felt sleepy and surreal. This was heat, and flesh, and the smell of his skin mixing with the briskness of the night air.

He made a sound, a single humming note from deep in his throat that set her heart aflame. Parting her lips, she traced his teeth with her tongue. He moved atop her, his weight pressing her into the bedroll. His desire was an insistent pressure against her hip, and she rolled against him, sighing into his throat.

She wanted him, she realized, and he wanted her. It wasn't dislike, what she felt for him, and it wasn't irritation: it was passion. It was a desire so big that it consumed her; it was attraction acute as a sword-point. It was a frustrating need to have him turn and look at her, and see something that he valued. Something he wanted.

Solas pulled back, briefly, as he let his long fingers trace her sides, her chest, her thin exposed neck. Ellana gasped as his mouth moved from her jaw, down her throat, and finally to the exposed swell of her breasts.

"Hopeful, light, like a bright candle in a dark tower."

The clear, dreamlike voice cut through their intimacy like a dagger. They both froze.

"Skin soft, like her, her touch like fire, like she is real. This isn't right. I've wanted this for so long." A brief pause, then: "Solas, why are you eating her?"

"Cole." Solas said the spirit's name like a curse.

Ellana laughed shakily. She'd forgotten about the nearly omniscient boy standing guard just a few yards away.

"I should speak with him," she whispered reluctantly.

"Let me," the apostate said roughly. He took a moment to adjust his leggings, then crawled out of tent, disappearing behind the canvas flap.

"Cole, have we not already discussed privacy?" She heard the tight disapproval in his voice.

Ellana stifled a giggle as she sank down into her bedroll and fought to stop trembling.


	6. All New, Faded for Her

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Since the death of Wisdom, Solas has disappeared, leaving Ellana with unanswered questions.

Commander Cullen Rutherford ran a tired hand over his eyes. The reports before him were a blur; he could hardly think for the pounding in his head.

And the night's work was nowhere near done.

He looked around at the heaps of scrolls and paperwork scattered across his office. The candles burned low, casting shadows like demons on the stone walls. The monstrous shapes almost took him back to the Kirkwall Circle, to the screams of mages and burning men…

He nearly jumped out his skin at the knock on the door.

The handle turned, and an angular blonde head peeked inside.

Cullen hurried to stand, chair scraping back loudly. "Inquisitor!" he spluttered.

Lavellan hesitated in the doorway. "Bad time, Cullen?"

"Not at all." Still flustered, he sat down and gestured at the chair before his desk.

Lavellan crossed the room with her lithe dancer's step and perched at the edge of the seat. Tension emanated from her in near-visible waves.

"How can I help you, Inquisitor?" he asked courteously.

It had been some time since he had seen Lavellan up close. Her slim, pretty face and silver-blonde hair frequently caught the attention of the men in Skyhold - and a few women, too. But lovely as she was, Cullen could not help but notice that she looked drawn; exhausted. And it may have been the candlelight, but it seemed as though there were lines on her face that hadn't been there before.

"I have a request," she started hesitantly, "And I… I would like for it to stay between us."

"Of course, Inquisitor."

She shot him a little grin. "Ellana, when it's just you. As you know."

"Inquisitor Ellana."

She sighed and Cullen tried not to smile.

"It's about Solas, Commander. He's been gone nearly three weeks. I can't help but think that something must have happened."

"Yes, I noticed he's been gone. I thought he was on a mission for you."

Ellana frowned. "Not quite. I would look for him myself, but the Nevarran ambassador is visiting and Josie won't let me leave."

So Lavellan and Solas were together, then. Cullen had suspected as much for some time. He fancied himself a romantic, but he was not imagining the glow in her eyes when that apostate spoke.

"And how can the Inquisition's forces help?"

She leaned in, ablaze with passion. "Send Inquisition forces to the Exalted Plains. Creators, we need a stronger presence in the area anyway. And while they're there, they can search for Solas."

Cullen's heart dropped. "Our soldiers are spread extremely thin at the moment, and our new recruits aren't ready for such a task."

"And that means..?"

"I'm afraid we can't spare any more men for the Exalted Plains at this time, Inquisitor," he said gently.

Lavellan's shoulders slumped, and she rose from her chair. "It was worth a try."

"I will send missives to those already there to keep watch for Solas. And speak with Leliana; she can have Harding's men looking, too." He paused, stomach in a knot. "I am truly sorry, Inquisitor."

"Ellana," she corrected him, and the door shut with an echoing bang.

***

"You seem rather subdued of late, my dear," remarked Vivienne slyly. "I hope you aren’t pining after that _apostate_."

Ellana wanted to smack her.

"I'm sure I don't know what you mean," Ellana replied coolly, turning her face away.

The enchanter gave her fake, tinkling laugh. "Very good, darling. You are becoming adept at the Game. Give Lady Josephine my compliments - I _almost_ believed you."

With an elegant nod, Vivienne departed. Ellana stood alone on her bedroom's balcony, looking out at the dusk and red-streaked mountains.

So she was as transparent as always. It was really no wonder that she constantly lost at Wicked Grace. Truth be told, her temper certainly had been shorter than usual since Solas had left. It had been nearly a month since he'd come to her, distraught, and asked for her help in saving his friend, a spirit. But their mission had failed, and there had been no sign of him since.

He'd said he needed time alone, and Ellana had given him that - mostly out of shock. The pure, undiluted rage on his face on his face as he charged the mages that had killed the spirit Wisdom was not something she'd soon forget. If she hadn't stopped him, forcibly held him back, Ellana felt sure that he would have blasted them to pieces.

Even worse than the rage had been the terrible grief carved into every line on Solas' face. It was a sadness so bottomless that she felt her chest cave in, as though he were carrying the weight of all of Thedas on his shoulders.

There was so much she didn't know about him, so much that she'd asked about and - now that she thought about it - had never really been answered.

Ellana's pacing quickened. She had no right to demand anything more than loyalty; she knew that. But the memory of their trip to the Hinterlands was seared into her mind: the soft pressure of his mouth, of his hands as he embraced her. The satisfaction of his skin against hers.

Since then, Solas had been careful not to be alone with her, making polite small talk and withdrawing immediately if the discussion became heated. They could not even properly debate Dalish customs anymore, and his passive surrender was worse to Ellana than any lost argument. She had foolishly hoped that their journey to the Exalted Plains might help them forward. Now he was gone.

She leaned tiredly on the stone of her balcony. Ellana was responsible for the entire Inquisition and - as her glowing mark reminded her - the entirety of Thedas. She should not be wasting time yearning after a man who had left her.

In a daze, she stared down at the hundreds below. She could make out Cassandra in the training grounds with Varric standing nearby. The faintest music floated up from the Herald's rest, and the pleasant buzz of voices and laughter. The merchants were busy packing away their goods for the day as the evening began to still.

Suddenly, Ellana noticed a flurry of activity far below. The gates were opening! But for what, or who? Squinting, she leaned over the banister.

A lone figure limped into the citadel. Tall, lean, loping gait, holding a wooden staff in his right hand.

Ellana's heart stood still.


	7. Vhenan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A storm brews in the Frostbacks, and Ellana gathers her courage.

Alone in her sprawling chambers, the Inquisitor paced the floor. Darkness fell over Skyhold as anvil-headed clouds gathered ominously on the horizon. A storm was coming, and coming soon, but Ellana was restless for a different reason.

Solas was here. He was just downstairs, probably pouring over books in his study.

Ellana had been sure he was gone for good. She'd been angry, betrayed… and now fully aware of how much she'd missed him. His melodic voice, the ageless face, the clever smirk that he'd hide behind a hand when their arguments left her spluttering.

He was sitting downstairs, possibly waiting for her. And here she was, cowering in her bedchamber like a teenager.

Was she craven or just stupid?

 _Don’t be a fool_ , Ellana told herself firmly and, without giving herself time to think, descended the stairs, tore open her chamber door - and collided head-on with Solas himself.

Ellana staggered back, and the apostate rubbed his chin where it had smacked her forehead.

"Solas!" she gasped, mortified.

"Inquisitor," he replied shakily, his lovely voice rougher than usual.

"I was just coming - " she started, but quailed under the heat in his eyes. He looked decidedly...hungry.

"I - well, I was also…" he fell silent. "Do you have a moment?"

Before she had a chance to answer, Solas stepped around her.

"Pushy," she muttered, and followed him up the stairs.

He slowed in the center of her chamber, looking around disapprovingly at the lavish drapes and tapestries.

She watched him, coiled taut as a viper, until his next words shattered her composure.

"Not exactly how I pictured your rooms, _lethal'lan_."

All it took was that simple comment for her frothing mess of emotions to boil over.

"Are you _joking_?" she snarled.

He turned, surprised at the vehemence in her tone.

"You disappeared. You were gone. For _months_ , Solas. I thought you’d been captured, or killed. I imagined you dead."

And the bastard _smirked_. "Da'len - "

"QUIET," she thundered, temper building like a hurricane.

Solas took a step back; for once, speechless.

Part of her - the part that sounded like Keeper Deshanna - was immediately ashamed by her behaviour. But the rest of her drove onward.

"You _moron_ , Solas. You smug, arrogant bastard! I worried for you; I sent soldiers out looking for you, wasting spies and precious resources just for the _slightest_ indication of whether you were alive! I blamed myself - _I let you go, it was my fault_? How many nights did I spend fretting about you? And you march in here like..." Chest heaving, Ellana took a breath and pinched the bridge of her nose between her fingertips.

"Ellana - "

"Don't!" she snapped. Her face burned from both embarrassment and rage.

Dauntless, Solas stepped closer, reaching for her shoulders. Again her anger rose and Ellana lashed out, striking him in the chest. She made satisfying contact before a barrier flickered to life and her strike slipped, stopped by the air itself. She struck again, a sharp flail at his face but Solas caught her by the wrist.

His silver eyes gleamed.

"Let me go, Solas," she hissed.

"No."

He jerked her closer; gripped her elbow with his other hand. His touch burned like coals through her clothing.

"That's an order."

Something seemed to change in him. His smile became wicked; his voice slow, mercurial.

"Then it seems I must rebel, Inquisitor."

Decisively, he crushed her to him with an iron grip. His lips found her lips, then her face, then her throat. Ellana could not help but sigh, for the moment his skin touched hers she felt all her fury melting away, replaced by passion - a passion bigger than anything she'd experienced. The barrier flickered out as her fingertips pulled at his tunic, easing it over his head.

Ellana's blood was fire and fresh mountain air. She could do anything, have anything.

She wanted him.

His shirt lay discarded on the Antivan carpet as Ellana pushed them back toward the stately bed. They tumbled into it, never breaking their embrace. The skin of his lean chest was both hard and soft.

Cleverly, her fingers reached to unlace his breeches, but his hand held hers firmly.

"No." Solas' voice was unyielding, even while dark with lust.

"Solas -"

"As much as I might desire, Ellana... we cannot."

She ignored him, wrapped her legs around his hips and kissed him hard. When Solas pulled away, she felt his laughter in her own chest. He peered into her face, grinning.

"No, _vhenan_."

_Vhenan?_

Ellana felt herself herself soften, molding her form to his.

Solas smiled and his kisses became gentle, trailing from the tip of her ear to the space between her breasts. He pressed his forehead to hers, and held her as she stopped trembling.

They stayed like that, face to face, for a very long time.

***

The towering storm, so angry and imposing, narrowly avoided the castle. The sun sank low in the sky, but the Inquisitor's work was unending.

Ellana adjusted her clothing in the reflection of the Orlesian looking-glass, and made an effort to tame the chaos of her bed-ruffled hair.

Solas reclined on her four-poster, leaning his angular face into his palm. He watched her carefully, but his eyes revealed nothing.

Creators, he was confusing. She felt like a virgin again, fumbling and shy. Even now, Ellana thought that parts of her might hate Solas. 

Ellana shook herself out of her reverie, and shot Solas a wry smile through the mirror.

"Guess I owe Varric an ale. I wasn't sure you were coming back."

"Neither was I, for a time. But only a short time." Solas paused a moment, before continuing in a rush, "You were a true friend. You did everything you could to help. I could hardly abandon you now."

"And you still won't sleep with me?" she quipped and Solas smirked at her.

Ellana ran a comb through her hair, smoothing as she pondered. "Where did you go?"

Pain flashed across the apostate's face, and he closed his eyes. "I found a quiet spot and went to sleep. I visited the place in the Fade where my friend used to be - it's empty. But there are stirrings of energy in the void. Someday something new may grow there."

Ellana hummed in reply. She was familiar with the semi-existence of spirits from their magic lessons, and had no desire to relive the lectures.

She stepped back from the glass. Her clothing and hair still looked a little rumpled, but it would have to do.

Solas rose and placed a hand down the center of her back, raising goosebumps on her neck. Was it the magic in his body that caused her to react so strongly to his touch? Or something more primal?

Their eyes met in the mirror.

"The next time you have to mourn, you don't have to be alone!" Ellana burst out.

There was a pause, and though she felt heat flood her pale cheeks, the Inquisitor forced herself to hold the apostate's gaze.

He seemed… shocked? Angry?

Gradually, his expression softened and he looked at her tenderly.

"Thank you," he replied quietly. "It has been so long since I could trust someone..."

"I know," she shot back.

Solas choked back a laugh. "I'll work on it. And thank you."

He left. The door snapped shut behind him.

Ellana sat at her desk, seeing the letters and contracts and documents before her but not reading a thing.

Turning her head, she observed the dark, retreating clouds and orange sunset beyond, and smiled into her shoulder.

_Vhenan._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have I mentioned that I loooove slow burns? And thanks to Fenxshiral for the Elvhen.


End file.
